Dinner With America
by HollidayMourner
Summary: England comes home to find a rancid smell and an intruder waiting for him. What happens when this intruder is nothing more than a former colony coming home to apologize?


**A/N: I wrote this one-shot a long time ago. Maybe my freshman year of high school? Anyway, this is the first ever story I've written that's not rated T, so... I hope you enjoy and don't forget to review and favorite :)**

England definitely didn't like the smell that greeted him when he returned home from work. Instead of the usual, pleasant aroma of strong herbal tea, an acrid odor of burned fat and grease assaulted him. He crinkled his nose in disgust and took off his bowler hat and pea coat, hanging them both on the coat rack beside the door. The house was still and silent as he walked across the foyer and into the drawing room. His eyes scanned for anything unusual or out of place among the furniture and decorations as he went.

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Everything was in its rightful place.

In the living room, England observed the space even more closely, his large green eyes wide, taking in every detail. All the expensive furniture and decorations were where they belonged. England looked over to the fireplace, the large chunks of oak he had put in there before he had left for work still burning among the ashes of past fires. He was concentrating so hard on trying to hear any noises that might not have been natural to the old house that he convinced himself that he heard a door close in one of the rooms on the second floor. England hurried up the staircase, taking two steps at a time.

Every door on the second floor was closed tight.

_You just have to make everything difficult, don't you_, England thought in anger as he stalked over to the closest door on his left. He gripped the doorknob so tight his knuckles turned bone white and his hand began to cramp and ache. The knob turned easily in his hand, making no noise as he pushed the door open slowly. He didn't know exactly what he was trying to accomplish by opening the door slowly, but he hoped that whoever had broken into his home was not watching him right that moment, was not seeing how shaky and unstable his legs were as he pushed the door open all the way, poking his head into the simply-furnished guest room.

Nothing. Once again. Absolutely nothing. The room was completely empty.

England growled in frustration, his eyes narrowing as he looked over the room once again before slamming the door closed. When he was back out in the hallway again, he glanced over his shoulder and down the staircase. An odd feeling sent shivers up and down his spine. England was torn between continuing to search the upstairs rooms and going downstairs and forgetting about it.

_But what if France was the intruder.._. England thought, his eyes narrowing at that highly likely probability. Well, his mind was made up: he would continue to search the upstairs rooms, this time searching them thoroughly for cameras. Because that was just how the Frenchman rolled.

England checked the rest of the upstairs rooms slowly, making sure to take in every detail in every room. Some rooms he even checked multiple times. But there was nothing. Not even a single camera. _Maybe it's just my nerves getting to me..._ England thought as he descended the stairs once again, this time in search of that horrible stench.

Speaking of that horrible smell. It had definitely grown stronger while England was upstairs. _I wonder why I didn't smell it at all while I was up there?_ England thought as he walked across the foyer and headed over to the dining area. What he found there was definitely the last thing he had been expecting to see.

Or rather, _who_ he found there.

"_Iggy_!" an achingly familiar, and strangely comforting, voice called out excitedly once England stepped into the dining area. Before England could do anything to defend himself from the larger nation rushing towards him, he was enveloped in a strong-armed, bone-crushing, lung-collapsing hug.

England struggled against the arms restraining him. "A-America!" he managed to gasp out as he struggled against his ex-colony. The American was definitely a lot stronger than the old, grouchy Englishman. And that irritated England even more than the thick smell of grease and fat and... and overall unhealthiness hanging over the first floor of the house like a heavy raincloud.

America released the Brit, much to England's relief. He never would have been able to get free himself. America had a huge smile on his face, and he was looking at England with wide puppy-dog eyes. Kind of like how he did whenever he was a colony when he wanted England to get him something really unhealthy.

"What do you want, America?" England asked grumpily, stepping away from the other nation and walking around the dining table. "And what is that horrible smell?" England crinkled his nose again as he walked a full circle around the table, coming back to stand about three feet beside America.

"I came over because I wanted to have dinner with you, Iggy!" America explained, looking at England with a pout, his bottom lip trembling slightly. "I miss having dinner with you..."

England was shocked. America... missed him? Since when? And why? Why come and tell him this now, only a few days away from the anniversary of him gaining his independence? It made no sense to England, but he wasn't about to pass up an opportunity to hang out with his little brother (even though England would never admit that to _anyone_).

England waited a little impatiently for the explanation as to why his house smelled like a fast food restaurant, but one never came. Instead, America grabbed England's hand and pulled him down into a kitchen chair. "Now stay here, Iggy," America ordered softly, smiling goofily as he made his way to the kitchen. A few moments later, America entered the dining room, holding a bottle of red wine and two champagne glasses. He set one glass down in front of England and one down in front of a chair beside him, pouring wine into the glass and filling it half way up before leaving and entering the kitchen again.

When America came back into the dining area, England crinkled his nose at what he saw. The reason for the horrible smell throughout his house was hamburgers - America's favorite "cuisine". He was holding one plate occupied by three greasy hamburgers and one plate filled with pasta noodles.

"I know how much you like it when Italy cooks for you," America began as he set the plates down on the table and took a seat. "So I asked him how to make them the right way so I could impress you. See? I'm not totally useless." America glanced over at England at this last sentence, looking for any sign of... well, a sign of just about anything, really. And what he saw shocked him completely.

England was crying. Well, at least America thought he was. Because that's what it looked like to him. But before America could apologize for doing whatever he had done wrong, England grabbed his hand and squeezed it gently before pulling it onto his lap and holding it there. "You're not useless, Alfred," England began quietly. "You never were..." England glanced over at America. He wasn't crying, but a single tear had made its way halfway down his cheek before America reached up with his other hand to wipe it away lovingly.

"I'm sorry, Iggy," America murmured sadly. "For everything. I hurt you too much, and I know this dinner doesn't make up for all the pain I've caused you, but I hope it helps you see that I really am sorry, and that you will always be my big brother and that I love you."

England choked on a sob as he lifted America's hand to his lips and kissed it softly. _You're forgiven_.


End file.
